


The Woman Sent by [REDACTED]

by tejiisan234



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, First Meetings, One Shot, POV Second Person, Post-Android Rebellion, Pre-Relationship, deTECTIVE READER, depictions of gore, human reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tejiisan234/pseuds/tejiisan234
Summary: A series of nonlinear one shots about Connor, the android sent by CyberLife, and his girlfriend, the forensics technician with a robotic arm.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Connor (Detroit: Become Human/Female Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. How I Met Your Mother

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins...

“Oh, Jesus,” Hank groans at the sight that greeted them.

Connor shares the sentiment even as he doesn’t say anything. He may be deviant now, but he found that it benefits him greatly to be stoic when he’s on the job. CyberLife got one thing right after all. Being detached from the situation helps him greatly as a detective.

“Gnarly, isn’t it?”

Connor turns away from the carnage that’s been brightly lit up way before their arrival to face the woman who had approached them. She wears a DPD jacket and on her belt, an ID hangs with a small photo next to her name and occupation. _Forensic Technician._ What catches Connor’s attention, however, is her left arm. It’s robotic and without synthetic skin.

“Lieutenant,” she says, holding out her hand to Hank as she introduces herself.

Hank doesn’t even blink as he comfortably takes her prosthetic to shake. “Hank Anderson. This is Connor. I heard we were getting some new techs.”

She laughs. “Here I am.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Connor says her name when it’s his turn to shake her hand.

Her mouth twists into an easy grin. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Connor. I heard you’re something of an expert on crime scenes...care to give us a hand?”

“Heh,” Hank cough’s into his sleeve while her grin presses into a mischievous smile.

Connor blinks before his gaze flickers briefly to her arm and, “Oh.”

She laughs again, obviously pleased by his reaction. “Sorry, I had to.”

Connor allows himself to smile back. Something in his coding says he’ll get along with this woman just fine. “No apologies needed. Shall we?”

“Let’s get to work.”

* * *

You’ve never had problems with androids. Hell, it’ll be kind of hypocritical if you did. But you never really got on the hype train for them, either. So, you don’t quite understand the fascination some of the people in your life have for androids.

Is it the curse of being “friends” with Elijah Kamski, you wonder.

“So, did you meet him?”

You sigh as you drop the towel you’ve been using to dry your hair with around your shoulders. You cast a wary look at the phone on your bed. _E.K._ the caller ID read.

“Yes, Eli, I did.” You drop down next to your phone, reaching for the lotion on your night stand. “Why are you so obsessed with him? You plan on adding him to your Chloe collection?”

Elijah snickers on the other end. “Even if I tried to explain it to you, I don’t believe you’ll quite understand it, my dear.”

Had that come from anyone else, you’d have been insulted, but you’ve known the man since your late teens so you unfortunately know Elijah Kamski all too well. Plus, he’s right. There’s a reason you’re a forensic technician and Kamski a rocket scientist. It’s a fact of life and something you can’t be bothered to understand.

Still, one does not remain friends with Elijah Kamski without giving him shit. 

“Fine, keep your secrets,” you huff, rubbing a dollop of lotion at the base of the docking port for your prosthetic. Despite the advancement of technology, it still tugs and chafes at your shoulder on a good day. “See if I care.”

“I got your care package today,” he quickly replies in a sing-song voice. “Thank you for the chocolates.”

Wow, the delivery couldn’t have been timed more poorly. 

Well, you’re tired so you can use that as an excuse for your lackluster shit-giving tonight.

You sigh again and let yourself fall unto your back, eyes slipping shut as you say, “Bring me back something good from your next trip to Japan and we’ll call it even.”

His chuckle is distant to your ears even though your phone is nearby. “Alright, get some sleep, dear. We can talk about androids another time.”

You might’ve mumbled something but you were already slipping.

Elijah and his androids...well, it’s not like you can’t see the appeal.

Connor is pretty good looking...


	2. I like your hand, G.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor spends a quiet night in with his girlfriend...she has a few things to say.

“Connor...”

At his girlfriend’s gentle call, Connor hums distractedly as he continues to peruse the report of today’s case.

“Honey.”

He smiles, gaze not leaving the tablet in his hand. It weirds his girlfriend out when he reads in his head. “Yes, dear?”

“You know I love you.”

“Uh oh.” Connor lifts a brow, going back over a line and mentally highlighting it. “What’s you do?”

She huffs a laugh. “Not a damn thing, and you know it. I’ve been nothing but an upstanding citizen.”

Connor chuckles. “Is this where I call you a good girl?”

The following silence is short, but Connor doesn’t have to look at her face to know that her cheeks are flushed. It’ll be a lie if Connor will ever say that he doesn’t enjoy teasing such reactions out of his girlfriend, because he does. Perhaps a little too much.

She clears her throat, recovering her composure. “That is neither here nor there. What I’m trying to get at is this.”

His right hand is jostled and Connor finally turns away from the report to where he has his girlfriend’s prosthetic hand held in his own. He smiles at the sight. He had peeled back the synthetic skin on his right hand so they’re hands match. He cannot explain the joy it brings him.

“I need this to work, you know?”

“Ah.” Connor blinks, shifting his gaze to meet hers What he finds there is fond exasperation with a bit of impatience. They’ve both been busy with the slew of paperwork that’s come in recently from cases that had backlogged the system, so like Connor, she’s also reading through her own reports next to him on their couch.

It’s become something of a ritual and they’ve solved several cases this way, comparing notes as the night goes on.

Tonight, however, Connor isn’t in a solving mood (and nothing requires their immediate attention). He smiles at her, setting his tablet aside. “You want this back?”

To emphasize, he raises her hand to his mouth, placing a featherlight kiss on her knuckles.

Her own smile is slow to bloom, obviously fighting the temptation he’s so blatantly offering. It’s a battle he’s determined to make her concede.

He shifts his hold on her hand so their fingers are loosely tangled before dragging his lips from the tip of her thumb down to her wrist, making sure that her eyes remain on him as he pokes his tongue out to give the plastic a quick lick.

She visibly swallows and Connor knows he’s won. Her pupils are blown, her chest is heaving, and his favorite blush is spreading across her cheeks.

With a single move, he tips them across the couch making sure that he doesn’t land fully on his girlfriend as she allows herself to be pushed onto her back, keeping his hold on her hand while his free one comes up to wrap around her waist.

“That’s no fair,” she says, barely above a whisper, wiggling a bit under him so she could hook her ankles around his calves. “You know exactly how sensitive the nerve functionality on this arm is.”

“And I’m eternally grateful.” He swoops down to peck a kiss on the tip of her nose before making a face, “Even if it’s to Elijah Kamski.”

She laughs, arms settling across his shoulders to tug him back into her space. “Thank god for Kamski.”

The next kiss is on her lips and it’s just this side of punishing.


	3. Pretzel of protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You logically know Connor doesn’t feel pain the same way you do...but logic isn’t exactly at the forefront of your brain in the moment when a gun gets pulled on your favorite android.

You knew you should’ve stayed at the station, but you were getting nowhere in your investigation, and when you saw Connor heading out to check up on a lead, you decided to join him.

But there’s a reason you’re not a field agent.

_This is why you’re not a field agent._

“Shit!” you grunt at the pain that flares from your shoulder and you don’t have to look to know that crimson red is staining your shirt and DPD jacket.

Connor’s arm had wrapped securely around your waist when your body had slammed face-first into his chest, your name leaving his lips in alarm. It was enough of a distraction to let the perp run off. 

You grit your teeth against the burning agony, cold sweat running down your back as you say, “Connor, go after him.”

“What? No!” His reply is vehement, jaw clenched against the very thought of leaving you while his LED spins in solid red. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“You can do that _and_ catch the bad guy,” you argue, knees going week. You let Connor guide you to sit on the steps of the newly abandoned town house and you gingerly lean against the brick wall. “The bullet is lodged, give me something to staunch the blood with and I’ll be good until the ambulance gets here.”

You can see the the conflict in Connor’s gaze as his eyes flicker over your face and body, no doubt assessing your condition while his hands flutter over the entry wound, unsure. Your hand is sticky with blood.

“Connor, go.”

If he clenches his jaw any harder you fear it’ll shatter, but he stills before practically ripping his own jacket off his shoulders. He balls it up and swiftly places it against the wound as gently as he can, trapping the piece of clothing against your shoulder and the brick wall. You wince at the painful tug but force yourself to keep steady.

There’s a fearsome look on Connor’s face when he nods at you before he sets off to catch your escaping assailant. You heave out a breath and close your eyes against the afternoon sun. And it was such a nice day.

“Excuse me, miss, can I help?” 

You peek an eye open to find a man cautiously approaching you. The crowd that had dispersed at the gun’s loud bang were slowly coming out of their hiding places.

Smiling as much as you could, you say, “If you’re not afraid of blood you could help me with this.”

At your nod to your injured arm (previously your healthy organic right arm), the man hurries forward and follows your quiet instructions while beyond him you see someone talking on the phone and a couple other keeping the growing crowd at bay.

In the distance, the familiar wail of ambulance sirens reach your ears.

* * *

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” is the first thing you tell Connor the second he steps into your hospital room.

It doesn’t ease the furrow between his brows or calm the flickering yellow at his temple. There’s flecks of your dried blood on his white shirt, nearly lost in the smatterings of green and streaks of gray. A far cry from his usual tidiness. From what Hank has told you, the chase had been quiet an eventful one but successful. While the doctors patched you up, Connor had taken the perp to the station.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” he says, ignoring your words as he takes the seat Hank had vacated next to your bed. He eyes your prosthetic hand for a split second and, had you not been watching him, you might’ve missed it. “I had to take care of the paper work.”

You smile and hold your hand out to him. “It’s fine.”

He briefly hesitates. Then the skin around his own hands melt away to reveal stark white plastic before he curls his fingers around your hand, so slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement or minute bit of strength will render your prosthetic useless. His LED finally settles back to its cool blue. Then he’s gripping at your wrist, leaning forward to settle his forehead against your knuckles, while he screws his eyes shut.

“Please don’t ever ask me to do that again.”

You squeeze his hand and the movement prompts him to replace his forehead with his chin so he can see you properly. You offer him a smile. “Don’t worry, I have no plans on getting shot ever again.”

“Promise?” He pulls out the puppy eyes that he swears all the time he doesn’t have.

 _Sneaky little fucker._ You try to suppress the grin that’s threatening to split your face in half. “On one condition.”

A brown brow quirks in interest.

“Finally ask me out once they take me off these pain killers.”

He blinks, and for a few seconds Connor appears to blue screen. Then he blinks again and there’s a reserved but pleased smile quirking at his lips. Lips that brush against your knuckles as he says, “Deal.”


End file.
